To Diamond For
by Raspberry Muze
Summary: The Diamond of Hearts harbors many qualities, but can this potent jewel extinguish the fire of an avid bat's and willful hedgehog's enmity?


**Author's note: **I'm alive and never better. While on my extensive hiatus, I took to the books and began to polish and sharpen my writing skills. I don't care if I'm still considered in the eyes of my superiors as a second-rate 'n00b'; I haven't regarded that for almost five, six months. I guess that's what really dispirits you: losing confidence in yourself and your abilities, incidentally what I've been doing as of late. I guess I take that to excess…and can't expect to meet my requirements with that outlook. It's time to stop worrying about _other_ writers and start on myself—when I do that—the upshot is better writing. Personally, I have quite a way to go, but that's not a deterrent; I'm going to write'; I'm going to produce; and above all have fun. Something I've lost sight of along the way, and just believed it was about a concrete, solid plotline. I no longer dabble in fics with prefabricated fan-based characters—to those who do—good luck.

This is my first, how you say, 'fixed' fic and I'm cutting no corners on this. I can't really settle on when this will be done, and honestly, I think that's stupid to surmise on that. The story lasts relatively long as my imagination does, and then some. I'd like to thank two other writers on this site that have pretty much supported me from the beginning…and showed me the fun in writing. I think you know who you are, so I'll wrap it up now. Please, enjoy.

Chapter 1

The museum proprietor dabbed at his brow wearily, and went about closing the museum—whilst a figure obscured from the half-moon awaited. Poised for entry, overhanging, unseen, unnoticed within in the closure of a tree. The moment he readied his van and tore homeward, stiff, long legs unfastened themselves from the branch; longing wings parted, and a smile rose sharply amongst her browned muzzle. The figure lowered itself, stepping out into the moonlight, daytime hours forbidding her presence.

The snowy bat's eyes fixed pensively to the museum's entrance, her smile sinking as a downward half-moon on her face. Rouge approached the entrance in a hover, these locks and chains couldn't hinder her. One kick will get this done, she assured herself, and she pulled her leg rearward. Deftly, her leg swung forward sharply, sending the chain asunder and padlock clanking across the concrete; there was no time to time to gloat at this, and she hurried inside. Now, it had to be here, her eyes flit about fervently, but catching sight of nothing but more than paintings, sculptures and an unoccupied information desk.

Not at all what she was looking for.

As they had before in the tree, her wings drew apart, and she beat them into a light hover. She scaled the floor swiftly, frantically, all with no trace of her target. Until a shimmering band of light peered from the mammoth dinosaur structures, faint but fairly visible to an eye, her especially sharp one. Rouge dashed toward the light, which seemed to be uncannily guiding her, striking its shaft of light like a match against the bare, lightless, marble floors. All the jewels in the world, destined to be hers: be it they were confined to safes with intricate coding, fixed deep beneath the earth, never had it been so easy.

This one was practically giving way.

Her steel heels clacked as she took a more faster, anxious pace, and sweat stippled her forehead. As she mounted the stairs, the clacks loudening, cloggy echoes…she was almost there. The seemingly unworldly, semitransparent shaft of light thickened as she advanced to the very pinnacle of her search. With a forceful backward skid, she broke her run…the light had sunk underneath the floor…

This what she'd been looking for?

Her ever impassive, half-closed eyes widened to their fullness at its presence Her pants hushed to cool, thin breaths, and she trotted, heels clapping, toes slapping to its glassy confines. It appeared to be secured rather hurriedly, and scruffily. It looked so vulnerable. Her thickly gloved fingers smoothed the face of the encasing, a solid, cool texture. While her eyes rose to its moony detainee and numerous eyes, variously angled returned her fixed stare. Her dry throat tightened, and she mechanically ascended, leveling herself with the light-lidded top. Uncaringly, she raised the lid, and it tilted, and then finally fell, shattering deafeningly on the floor. What little gravity it had on her, it was soundless to her ears; only what she sought was sensuous.

Arcing inward, she claimed her spherical prize with cupped, exuberant hands, as this occasional surge of excitement only came in the course of obtaining a jewel. She maneuvered it, uplifting it slowly, and no force could sway her now—she had acquired what she wanted. There, nestled in the bosom of her gloved palms, was…

A dreadful oversight that would instantly puncture this moment, residing within the expertly placed bubbled eyes. Cameras. Cameras that spotted her, recorded her every move, and incriminated her this entire time. Completely transfixed, she shifted the globular jewel to one hand, and grasped it tightly, but not too tight to shatter it. Bloody hands and a tarnished jewel was certainly not a preference as opposed to outrunning the cops. Then she ran, scurrying down the steps that her heels pounded against like metal hammers, not a care but escaping here before the police discovered her. They'd be approaching, throngs of cars blaring frantically, huge lights washing her.

Not a chance.

She threw the entrance doors open, and took to the air promptly. As she ascended, cool air filling her outsize ears, the museum shrinking in the distance, the corners of her mouth tugged into a smile. A passage of easement: as if she had to fret and spend her days hiding., all up until that day "Everything just went well today, didn't it?" she said, chuckling and stroking at her plunder. It gleamed knowingly in response, its brilliance magnified by its twin moon. This bat knew of no current, near home, so the nearest hotel had to do…. for tonight.

All this trouble, and she forgot to impart with a thank you note.

"Sonic should be near by,I know he is!" cried Amy eagerly, running recklessly through the streets, shouldering whoever impeded her white-hot hunt for the blue hedgehog. She was unnaturally unsmiling, atypically speedy, that all the civilians, cars and those regularly equivalent to her were a distorted blur. I know my cards are right, she assured mentally, her red-booted feet hammering frantically, her hand with her well-known hammer pulled rearward. With a mighty strike upon the ground, she was flung skyward, overhead of all the ogling citizens.

"I'm sorry," she called contritely, a small dash of crimson flooding her almond cheeks.

It was not so long ago that he'd dashed off, flashing that perpetual smile, and tossing her with that aura of oceanic blue. As she advanced into the outskirts, the mammoth buildings shrunk; the skies darkened; and the bustling, overfilled roads reverted to rundown, unlined, uninhabited ones. She'd gone too far with no avail, and the streetlights flickered on sequentially. A sharp, biting chill gnawed at her uncovered shoulders, and a car, sputtering thick clouds of gas rolled by like tumbleweed. The skirt of her dress waved in the draft, and cracked lightly like a whip. She hung her head low, the entire confident, hopeful glimmer from her green eyes deadening instantaneously. She tilted back and sprawled herself, of course primly regarding her dress, on a splintery bench. Her feet mechanically swung in and outward, and steadied herself with her palms-but careful not to be pricked with a menacing splinter; an additive to her already unpleasant demeanor.

"Amy, maybe you should head back now. It's awfully late, and my mom would worry if we were out so late," Cream appeared from virtually nowhere, her soft, brown eyes practically iridescent from the streetlights. Petite and so youthful, it was just roughly a quarter after six. Originally, she'd been accompanying Amy, but Amy had hurried off so brusquely, catching up had taken effort into the small hours of the evening. Amy gave her long-eared gal pal a heavy, sullen look that made Cream's smile pale into a concerned, empathizing look.

"I'm sorry, Amy. Maybe they were predicting Mr. Sonic would come on another day."

She tried to force a smile, but it wilted and drooped on her lips. "It's okay, Cream, it's none of your fault." She rose up, and took hold of the butter-colored rabbit's cuff-linked wrists. "Oh, Sonic," she lamented silently, and guided Cream clear of the intimidating, dank, dismal and long-forgotten outskirts of Station Square. She knew the rabbit as well as the back of her own hand: save for herself, Cream's aversion of these places, in spite of her gumption to venture unaccompanied, was plainly patent. She'd first begin to fuss, and then whimper and whinny under her tiny breath—and not even the tastiest ice cream could quell those cries.

"Perhaps we could try again tomorrow, Amy?" she offered brightly, but it sounded more subdued in contrast to her normal euphoria and positivism.

"Of course we will," Amy replied confidently, and the gaiety seemed to reappearing in her tone, walk, and eyes. "For now, how 'bout some ice cream?"

"Alright!"

The jubilant duo reentered the city, with renewed hope. The multitude of shopper and business people had thinned considerably, and the vivid lights on the sign of the ice cream parlor welcomed them invitingly. The ice cream was nothing short of delicious: Cream had her regular vanilla cone, while Amy preferred a strawberry sundae, avalanched in frothy whipped cream and muddy chocolate sauce. As Cream lapped her ice cream with slow but vigorous strokes, Amy partook with less enthusiasm. She just couldn't shake it off, predictions never lie, today or the next day; she stabbed at her treat with her spoon lightly, and then stirred her whipped cream with the ice cream as pink and attractively vibrant as her fur.

"So, Cream, are you staying for the night?" Amy perked up, yet it was evident she was still a bit discontent. Ever since the boxercise course was concluded with a commemorative party, the two had been having biweekly sleepovers. They'd prattle on about sales at the malls, general life, and the topic, although it was a rarity, aspirations. All this would be divulged over ice cream, other scrumptious treats Amy would bake, or various recipes Amy would experiment with or concoct. Cream returned her smile,

"Of course I will, Amy."

"Great," she sounded satisfied, taking a long spoonful of her ice cream, giving a pleasant hum from its sweet aftertaste. "I'll make some of those ginger cookies, and I think I may have that soufflé down, too."

"Just make sure not to yell again after taking it out," Cream reminded meekly, stifling her laughter with a hand clapped over her mouth. Amy's brows drew together indignantly, and then gave the rabbit a look. Ruefully, she brought her hand down, Amy's face softened, and both burst into giggles.

"Ma'am, you'll need either a credit card or cash, please." The hotelier reiterated flatly at the tenacious bat. The man at the desk apparently endured all he could, and maybe the owner would sway her.

"I'll have that…but couldn't you just…for me?" she batted her lashes demurely, as if a genuine spark of interest had ignited for this man. "…Just once…?"

Unmoved, the hotelier, with irritated hands, saw her out of the hotel and slammed the doors shut. Rouge's ears sagged; the victory had been the hotelier's, but that door wasn't going to stay closed for long.

"Well, then we'll just see about that," she started, raising a sturdy leg, its muscles bulging intact.

"Have you heard?" the voice of a girl inquired urgently, breathlessly.

"Huh?" a guy's, presumably her friend's that had been way ahead of her turned around.

"Recently on the news tonight. Dove's Eye Jewel was stolen. The place was totally unscathed, except for the Dove's Eye exhibit. " She informed him bitterly, shaking her sandy, frizzed head.

" You're kidding. It's just a damn shame. I don't even know what to tell my mom tomorrow; she wanted to see it so bad," the guy responded, throwing his arms up, and his dusty brown freckles seemed to rise in unison.

"I know, and they don't even have a lead yet, but they think it's someone in the area. Fat chance; as far as this is concerned, we're screwed." she added glumly and then they both disappeared inside the hotel. Wide-eyed, gaping that her fangs jutted out, she skulked into the passageway towards the hotel's dumpster, and slid down. As much as she would embellish it, pluck it out of context, there were people; people that would see her; people that would know her; and people that would willingly, unblushingly inform on her... specifically those two. "I guess the roof will have to do tonight," she groaned, grimacing and taking flight

Acidy smells of nail polish and acetone dangled about the pink room strongly. The girls were doing one another's cuticles: Amy expectedly selected a sugary pink; whereas Cream opted over a fiery orange or a sooty brown. Both girls were arrayed in pretty nightclothes. Amy gaudily clad in an apple red one-piece with white buttoning. The typical red bandeau that usually backed her quills was replaced, nightly, with a just as vibrantly red ribbon. She spread her fingers to allow her newly painted nails to dry, and lounged on a beanbag chair. Cream herself wore a prim orange nightie that fell to her knees.

Conversation occurred from time to time, but both girls seemed to be far more taken by the silent romance movie—for the most part, Amy. Cream would be well off watching her daytime program with the sickeningly good-humored dinosaur relaying health tips. The colorless light danced and flashed against the walls, Amy's coos and gestures seeming to overtake the entire program; fantasies ran rampant of her and Sonic engaging in such a sublime, passionate kiss. Treading down the promenade hand in hand; sharing meals crosswise; and conversing till they were even too tired to continue.

"Isn't it romantic?" Amy crooned, folding her hands slowly.

Cream apparently less enthused, agreed dryly, "Yeah, Amy," then she right away wished she could've recanted. Amy tossed her head back dreamily, surprisingly unaware of her rabbit friend's lack of concern. She must be too absorbed in her program to even care.

"Amy…" Cream began, hoping to sidetrack her smitten friend from the program for a first in an hour. Amy's eyes, however, wouldn't shift from the television.

"What?" she sounded distracted, and shoved a fistful of unbuttered, low-fat popcorn into her mouth. Cream wavered, but eased quickly.

"I guess it's about time we started on those tasty cookies?" she reminded sweetly, mentally praying this diversion would persuade her.

"In a minute, it's getting to the best part." Amy replied faintly, waving a dismissive hand to her rabbit gal pal. Cream's head fell, and she drifted out of the room, her nightie's skirt tracking like the tail of an orange ghost. Morosely, she traced the cubed acrylic tiles with her gloveless, buttery fingers. She expected this night to just be for them—as she promised. It's just redoubled her tireless plight for Amy. Vanilla slated a trip to the museum for tomorrow, but Cream hesitated to ask Amy. She'd just turn it down, and then squander the remainder of the day reading her tarot cards. Cream's small hand hauled the phone to her ear, and she punched her home's number.

"Mommy? If we're going to go to the museum tomorrow still…could we buy one of those booklets, please?" the booklets were largely read, but Cream hadn't purchased one herself; not that she was particularly fond of the lackluster graphics. If this could lower her friend from the seemingly ceaseless clouds of delusion, she was more than willing to.


End file.
